Utopia
by LaurenIsAmoron
Summary: Summery: London, 7:35am: a girl throws herself off of London's skyline after one simple question. Where is Dan Howell? Two hours later at 9:01am at Wentz High Comprehensive, a body is found and Phil Lester, a student and PJ Liguori, an amateur photographer are suddenly embroiled in a mysterious plot to control the human mind along with the boy with brown eyes and too many secrets


~kiinda (not really) similar to the Channel 4 thing, Utopia ^^

***  
I ll give you one more fucking chance, the man spat, his pinky lay dangerously close to the trigger of the glock and his gaze was on the trembling girl. There wasn t much to say about her, she looked to be young, way younger than the guy who was sticking a gun into the flesh of her forehead.

She was tall and pretty with long red hair and despite her shaky sillouhette, her green eyes were determined and her mouth in a thin line. She was backing away slowly, her hands up in silent surrendor, yet her sharp eyes told a different story. The girl was a school girl, in a white blouse and black skirt, her tie loose under her collar. She skidded on the heels of her pumps and clumsily stumbled over to the railings where fifty feet below, the 9:00 rushour was speeding by. There she hit a dead end and after surveying every possible escape route, she turned to face the man, still trembling.

"One more time, love." the man potruded the gun into the skin of her forehead and she winced, biting back a cry. She only stared into the barrel of the gun and laughed shakily, throwing her arms in the air. "Now why on earth would you do that?" her voice was soft like silk. When the man made no effort to answer, her lips curved into a small smile.

"Kill me," she murmured softly, "And you ll never know where my brother is," and then she pointed to the funny looking briefcase he was swinging in his left hand. "Also, you ll never get your filthy hands on-" at that point the man had had quite enough. Both of her and her ignorence. He clicked the magazine into place and moved the glock down the side of her face and rested it on her mouth. "Where s Dan Howell?" he asked for the fifteenth time.

The girl didn t reply, only laughing while the gun sat between her tongue and teeth. Her laugh came out muffled and only angered the man. He stepped closer to her, his breath, reeking of stale beer and Cheese and Onion crisps. But she didn t try and get away. With her eyes still on the man, she moved slowly with his gun trained on her every movement. The girl moved swiftly where silver railings no longer stood in the way of her and London s skyline. Where is Dan Howell? the man demanded in the same monotone voice.

The girl didn t answer. Of course she didn t answer. But she did take a step backwards, the heel of her shoe hanging dangerously close to the edge. You ll never find him, she said. And even if you do he ll always be one step ahead of you, you think you ve find him and BAM! she took a threatening step towards him.

"He s gone with the wind," she breathed. And then the girl smiled at the man. It might have looked sweet, the way her eyes were bright blue and her smile almost sickeningly sweet. She turned away from him and took a dainty step, one step, and then after a few seconds another onto the narrow ledge lining the building. The girl blew red strands of hair out of her eyes which were dancing in the mild breeze and spread her arms out like a bird. "You ll never find it." she said, and she let herself fall forward gracefully. The man lunged and tried to grab her but gravity was already pulling her down violently, a whirlwind of red hair and white blouse blowing upwards untill she landed on the pavement below with a sickening slap, a dark pool of liquid began to form around her, seeping out onto the concrete staining it dark scarlet. Of course people ran to her aid, random passers by called an ambulance, but it was too late, her skull had been crushed with the force of the impact. When a little old lady rolled her onto her back, the girls eyes were still open, a magnificent blue. Her lips were still, believe it or not, curved into what looked like a smile of relief.

~ Single or return?

"Huh?" that was first thing which managed to escape my lips when I looked up from my book and quickly yanked out my earphones upon realising it was the train conductor. A man in his late thirties with black curly hair and tired eyes, wrinkles lining his forehead. He stood over me with a glum expression and a ticket machine around his neck. "Single or return?" he asked again, this time his tone was sterner and his voice slower, as if I was a little kid.

"Oh, um.." I felt my cheeks getting warm as I put my book down and fumbled through my bag which I had carelessly thrown on the seat next to me when I had got on the train. I dug into the pocket of my messenger bag and took out a fiver. "Uh..a return to Highfields station please?" I said, or rather stammered politely. Since I had attracted unwanted attention the old ladies sitting across from me.

The conductor took the money and then studied me with tired eyes. How old are you, kid? he asked in a slightly less menacing tone. I fiddled with my phone nervously. I m seventeen. I replied, biting back the urge to ask why. I started to panick that I didn t have enough for student fare and he was going to kick me off. I get mistaken as a kid quite alot. Maybe it s my Jake The Dog hoodie I always wear, with the hood up over my black hair which usually most of the time hangs in my eyes, which I kind of prefer.

The conductor sighed and printed me out a return ticket and handed me my change. It occoured to me that he didn t mention the price of the ticket but I didn t bother saying anything. He was probably having a bad morning. He looked like the kind of guy who lives on minimum wage with a dog and a wife who works full time at the hospital.

I folded the ticket and put in my wallet along with the three pound coins and the conductor moved further down the aisle. When he was gone I leaned back in my seat and stared out the window. North London was a blur of different colours, the green of trees and dark brown of brick buildings. I closed my eyes and thought about what the hell I was going to say to PJ Liguori about the party at his house on Saturday night. Party s aren t my thing. Book and Anime are my thing and despite having an okay reputation in Sixth form, I still preferred reading Stephen King s newest novel over getting hammered with my classmates.

Still, it was PJ s eighteenth, and with him being the most popular guy in the sixth form, I don t think I had a choice. I was Phil Lester, anxiety ridden geek who hides behind the popular friends he doesn t know how he aquired in the first place. PJ is the kind of guy you can t say no too. Unless you want to end up tied to the fence by your tie with a knife to your throat. Well maybe I went slightly over the top with that. He s not a knife wielding thug, he s the kind of nice popular guy who s great with getting girls and at the same time, gets good grades along with acheivements. He was a prefect in years ten and eleven. I was too, but dropped out because of all the ridiculously long assemblies and meet up s.

The train started to slow and I got ready to stand up, grabbing my bag. Highfields station came into view. It was packed with people shuffling on and off trains. The station itself was a huge building the size of a small school, it s interior gloomy black. The ticket offices and various shops like a bakery and newsagents lined the building and then there were six platforms on either side. I knew the station off by heart since my school; Wentz High is only a five minute walk from here. As soon as the train comes to a squeaky halt on the rails, I grab my bag and phone and step of the train quickly and join the wave of people bustling into the main station. I root in my bag for the return ticket and shoved it in the slot and stepped through the barrier quickly, heading for the doors and out into the warm July morning. The sun was shining which made a change from earlier where the sky had been a murky grey, the sun none-existant.

My phone reads 8:48 and I quicken my pace, jogging across the town square and past various gaming and food shops. Greggs was tempting since I was hungry but I have english first, and Mrs. Stockton with her narrowed eyes and grey hair yells at anyone who is late. Her voice is a screech, and I can t be bothered with her since a dull pain is blossoming, surely slowly becoming a headache.

The walk to school is pretty fast and I pass the time by doing what I do best. Daydreaming. I spend most of my time buried in my own imagination. It s far, far better than being in this shitty world. A world where I hardly see my parents because they re glued to their iPhones, and if not, at work or with friends. My parents are young since they had me in their late teens so now I guess they re trying to rerieve the time they lost when they were bringing me up.

It s too hot to be wearing a blazer, so I pull it off leaving me in a white shirt and annoyingly tight school trousers. I can see the school ahead with kids milling through the gates in the school s colours purple and red tie, blue blazer with the school crest sewn on the heart. Wentz High is abnormally huge, the size of a university. The lower building houses years 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11.

Then at the top was the sixthform buildings where basically 17 year olds go to piss around for a year before going to college. Sixth form has a lot more privilages than in high school. We have study rooms with a TV and xbox hooked up to it, also a mini fridge and endless supply of tea. I love sixthform.

I snap out of my daydream when I notice blue flashing lights near the school, and when I get closer, I see a crowd of kids on school grounds, no scratch that, a huge crowd, possibly the entire student body all standing outside. This strikes me as strange, since it s five past nine and classes were meant to start five minutes ago.

I walk through the gates, my gaze on two police cars and an ambulance with paramedics in bright green yelling at everyone to step back. One police officer is rolling yellow tape out with POLICE CRIME SCENE- DO NOT CROSS in black block letters. I join the crowd when I see PJ and the others making their way over to me. Phil! PJ s eyes are wide and alert, maybe a little fearfull.

PJ s actions are strange, and his expression different. At this time in the morning he would be half dead, going on about coffee, his green eyes stuck together with sleep. But now the boy is shaking, his brown curly hair messy, which is abnormal. PJ never comes to school with messy hair. He stands there in his school shirt which is buttoned up wrong and school trousers creased. He s clutching his bag strap in one hand, and his camera in another. One more thing about PJ. He s an ammature photographer. I never see him without his damn camera. Not that I hate him. He just has to get every single interesting thing that happens at this school which is rare anyway, captured on camera.

So that s why he looks so rarely disheveled. He must have gotten word of whatever s happened. My gaze flicks from PJ s excited eyes, to the crime scene where police are putting up a huge white tent.

"Phil!" PJ nudges me and I snap out of it, looking back at him. His eyes keep flitting back and forth between me and the crime scene.

"What? Oh! Hey PJ " I trail off when I glimpse four paramedics carrying what looked like a stretcher outside. Me and PJ stared along with everyone else. There was a body, covered with blue tarpaulin lying on the stretcher. I started to feel queasy. "PJ, What s happened?" I hissed, unable to tear my gaze away from the scene. "I don t know!" he said, or rather hissed excitedly. But I m going to get a closer look! Are you coming?" before I got a word in, PJ grabbed my arm and dragged me through the crowd. "Mate, who s died?" I whispered as he climbed over the tape discreetly. "PJ you can t go over there!" he rolled his eyes and helped me over the tape barrier. Then we dropped down and crawled over to where the ambulance was. I should not be doing this. PJ got closer, and I followed. There were two police men standing near the van.

"Teenage boy found dead with no wound or anything." one said to the other. "That s fucking weird."

Me and PJ exchanged looks and PJ took a few photo s. Who it it though, who s been found dead? I whispered. PJ took more photo s and shrugged. Dan Howell. he answered, and the name didn t ring a bell. Who? I frowned.

"He s in our year. Never seen him though, poor bastard." PJ sighed, snapping more photo s. He did it so professionally as if he had a photographer since he was born.

"Right, Phil. Can you sneak round there and see what s going on? Jack needs details for the school magazine. He s texted me four times but he can t get here." PJ gave me almost puppy-eyes and I folded my arms. "Jack Howard? Doesn t he live five minutes away from here?" I rolled my eyes.

"No, Harries." PJ clicked a few more photo s. Phil, just please do this!" he whined like a child. "If you do I ll- I ll talk to Zoey for you."

"I never said I liked Zoey! I said her hair looked nice ONCE!" I shot back. "Plus, I m gay, remember?"

"She likes you." PJ muttered. "Well, she s going out with Alfie, but-"

I sigh, exasperated. Fine! I growled. But I swear to god, if I get caught- PJ hushed me with his hands. You re wasting time! he said in a sing-song voice.

I stamp my foot in the dirt pretty childishly but I don t care. If I get caught peeking on private police investigation, I could be caught and arrested! I made a mental note to never listen to PJ again.

I do the whole duck-and-cover routine to where the stretcher is heading. When it passes me, a long tan arm slips from the blue cover and hangs lifelessly in mid air. If I blinked I would have surely missed it, but when I looked closer, there was a small slip of paper still clenched in his hand. The sick feeling in my gut got worse when it slipped from his embrace and dropped to the ground. I scanned the crowd but nobody noticed it, so I crouched down and picked it up, slid it into my shirt pocket and jumped up, making my way back to PJ.

I decided to keep the bit of paper to myself. It was probably some kind of goodbye letter or suicide note so I ll find out who his family are and pass it onto them soon.

"What did you hear then?" PJ packed his camera back into his bag as we made out way to class. Strangely, normal lessons had been resumed for the whole school and everybody seemed to be talking about the dead guy.

"Nothing really." I replied. "They were just saying he didn t have any injuries or chemicals in his body." me and PJ climbed the stairs to F Block where sixthform english was held. I still had the bit of paper in my pocket but I didn t dare look at it. Something was bugging me. Of all the people I ve spoken too, none of them knew Dan Howell, they didn t know him personally or as a friend, they just knew that he came to this school.

English was boring as usual, most of the conversation revolved round Dan Howell. It s weird, he was invisble when he was alive, yet now he s dead, his name is everywhere. You can t walk down the corridor and not hear Dan Howell. he was a dead celebrity.

At lunch I sat with PJ and his friends. Mostly consisting of all the media and performing arts students. I wasn t hungry so I picked at my sausage and mash combo with cold gravy. As you guessed it the conversation was on Dan Howell yet again. PJ and Chris, an american drama student, were discussing theory s into his mysterious death. So, what did they say? Chris drawled, forking up pasta. He was originally from texas, america, so he had literally the best slash worst accent ever.

PJ shrugged, biting into a donut. I dunno. Phil said he had no marks or injuries. he wiped his sugary mouth with his blazer sleeve and his gaze landes on me. Right Phil? There was something off about the way he looked at me.

"Uh..yeah." I nodded at everyone, who had stopped eating to stare at me. "So, did anyone actually know this guy?" Caspar, who sat next between me and Chris, asked, screwing the lid back on his Mountain Dew. There were murmurs of "no" around the table and then Louise, Zoey s friend, spoke up. "He was in a few of my classes, but he didn t speak."

That ended the conversation on Dan Howell, and PJ started to talk to Jack Harries about the school magazine. When the bell went I made my way to my locker to swap english text books to maths. I was so busy rooting through my locker I didn t notice the tap on my shoulder at first, but when they tapped again, this time harder, I span around to see a tall boy with brown hair in a similar style to mine with brown eyes.

He was pretty tanned, I noticed, his skin pratically sun-kissed, a golden brown girls would die for.

He s wearing the school uniform, but something s off about him, his shirt s slightly creased and the fact that he s not wearing a tie.

"Hi! the boy says brightly, his eyes shining. Before I get a chance to say "hi" back or say anything, he s grabbed my arm roughly and begins dragging me down the empty corridor. I try and struggle out of this random guys death grip but he s having none of it. "Hey! get off me!" I yell loudly. He just laughs, not harshly, a genuine laugh. "What the hell are you doing? I don t know you, get the hell off me right now!"

The guy drags me out of the school building and finally lets go of me. I m bright red and my breathing s hitched and unsteady. I straighten my crinkled shirt and I m not sure why I do it, but I find my hands smoothing down my front and redoing my tie neatly.

"That s it. Straighten yourself out, and then pull your phone out of your pocket." the boy says, his brown eyes boring into mine. "What are you talking about-" I start to say, but my hands are suddenly digging in my pockets for my phone and I m pulling it out. I hold it gingerly, sliding my fingers over the screen. The boy laughs, this time it s harsh and icy.

"Hit me." the boy says suddenly, and I frown. "What?!"

"Hit me. Go on, hit me in the chest."

I just stare at him. He s crazy. I start to wonder why I haven t called for help. Maybe I m crazy.

"Hit. Me." the boy says, slowly and menacingly. And I do. My arm raises on its own accord and lunges forward, my fist slamming into his chest. He doesn t wince when my fist collides with his chest, and I stagger backwards, shaking my head. "What?" I can barely breathe. "How are you doing that?!" I demand loudly.

The boy shrugs. What, this? he laughs. You mean what made you think Dan Howell was dead?

A shiver flies down my spine and I swallow thickly. What- what do you mean? I choke, the stretcher with the body coming back to memory. The boy eyes me. Don t you get it? he rolls his eyes. What do you think made you pick up my note? he reached into his pocket and ever so swiftly pulled out a gun. And pointed it at me.

Before I can react, he then puts the gun to his head, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. All my instincts are telling me to run, but I m frozen. I can t move. The boy seems to be sweating, beads of water slipping down his face.

"Shit." he breathes. "They re here."

"Who?!" I manage to choke. "Who s here what the hell are you talking about?!" I can feel the panick building and soon enough I m going to start hyperventilating.

"Phil." the boy says shakily. His finger is dangerously close to the trigger. He s still sticking the glock in his temple. "Phil, I need you to take the gun off me in the next sixty seconds." he whispers urgently and I take a step backwards. "How do you know my name?" I demand. He just closes his eyes, squeezes them shut.

"Just. Do. It." he says shakily, and then he points the gun at me again. "Take it off me now, Phil!" he screams. "Or you ll die!"

I don t hesiate. I reach out and swipe the gun from his fingers and it clatters to the ground. The boy breaths out a sigh, then he picked it up and shoved it in his school trousers. We need to go. he says, and then sighs. Look, I ll explain everything, just come with me and don t look back, because if you do, his eyes grew cold..

"You ll die." he offered his hand for me to take but I refused, my hands stayed at my side. "Who the hell are you?! What s going on?" I pratically sob. "How have you got a gun, what was that- that messed up witchcraft you did?"

He laughs again, dimples appearing in either cheek. Witchcraft. he repeats with a scoff. I ve had enough of this. I turn and start walking back into school..to do what exactly?

"Phil." he sighs. "Just stop."

I do stop. And I find I can t move.

"Who are you?" I ask again. "And how do you know my name?"

The boy hums in irritation. You know what? Fine, I ll tell you, but you have to promise to come with me. there was no way in this earths core I was going to follow him, but I nodded. Okay. I lied.

He shrugs. I m Dan Howell. he says, and my blood instantly runs cold. Believe it or not, he studied my reaction. That corpse lying on the stretcher? That s me. 


End file.
